Longing for Texas barbecue

Yesterday I returned from Houston — the second time this year. I was there for the Association of Food Journalists’ conference, where we visited Rice Tech and NASA to learn about futuristic food.

At the end of that day talking about hybrids and hydratable packages, we went to the other extreme with a beer tasting and barbecue.

The sausage, brisket and ribs brought back memories of my years in Dallas and the time I was writing a story on the best barbecue in the city. I went to more than 50 places, but the weekend before my Monday deadline I still had eight places to go. Friends pitched in, picking up food from various restaurants, and we gathered at my house for a tasting.

It was intense — so intense that I ended up dictating the story from a hospital bed.

I was off the barbecue quest for a while, and about a year later I moved to San Francisco where I didn’t have to worry too much about it. The Bay Area isn’t a barbecue mecca.

However when I saw the mound of of charred, mahogany tinged bones from Pizzitola’s Barbecue I had a Pavlovian reaction — a mouth-watering lust fueled by the barbecue I remember from childhood.

Pizzitola’s turned out to be some of the best ribs I’ve eaten. They’re simply coated with salt and pepper and then cooked in an open pit for about 3 1/2 hours, according to owner Jerry Pizzitola who bought the business in 1983 from a man who had owned it since 1935.

The pits have no temperature controls so success depends on simply “the man and the fork,” making the decision when to turn, move or remove the slabs.

The two open pits at the restaurant have been stoked daily since, even during hurricane Ike. In Texas, barbecue and Tex Mex are comfort food. I can understand why.